Living In Rhythm

One of my favourite things to say and, without sounding like the cliché I am not, live by, is this: Art inspires art. This goes for hearing a song and wanting to write good songs, or reading a book and wanting to write good books, or looking at a Monet and wanting to paint good paintings. Or seeing a painting and wanting to write a song. Et cetera and so on.

I have not been happy with the way I'm writing lately. Not necessarily the quality, but the speed and, shall I say, ease. There are many theories I have as to why, but I won't bore you with them here. It's just becoming increasingly harder and harder for me to sit down and write 10,000 words in a day. How dare my muse do this to me? (Tongue in cheek, folks...)

I often encounter artists whose work I listen to, read, or see, and think to myself, "I want to be as good at anything as he is at his craft." (Some examples: Just about any musician ever mentioned on this blog, John Green, Lawrence Hill, the guy who does chalk drawings on the sidewalk in downtown Ottawa.)

Think about it: If I was as good at writing words as John Mayer is at writing songs, I'd be a millionaire by now. Clearly it doesn't work like that. (Neither does wishful thinking, but I digress.)

I wanted background music to write to, simply because the silence was irritating me. I grabbed my headphones (honestly, if I'm going to listen to music, I want to hear it) and set myTunes to shuffle, figuring since I had no set mood, no desire to hear any specific song or artist, I'd just leave it up to my computer to decide.

Sometimes my computer makes good choices.

A song by one of, in my opinion, the best voices in country music came on about five songs in. The song is just vocal and piano, and it's about choosing a woman (and a life, really) over alcohol. The artist is Joe Nichols and the song is An Old Friend Of Mine. The song is brilliant, especially when you consider that Nichols actually did battle addiction.

Anyway, his voice.

You can't teach talent. You can't. You can shape it, hone it, build on potential. You cannot teach talent. Someone can either sing or they can't. Someone has natural artistic talent or they do not.

Joe Nichols' voice is a gift. From whom or where, I have no idea, but that doesn't really matter. Somehow, he drew the card to have a voice that sounds like that. Clear, clean, emotive. I'd almost say effortless.

This is how I feel about my writing. It's the one thing I do that comes naturally. Of course it takes thought and work, and like any other art form, there is a certain amount of evolution involved in the entire process, piece by piece as well as over an entire body of work. My ability to write is my gift.

So who's to say I won't eventually be as good at writing as Mayer is at lyrical turns of phrase? I'm not deluded enough to think that's even entirely possible, let alone for me, but why rule it out? Why think negatively and accept a reality which may not even be true, that having a talent that a lot of other people have for the same thing may mean I can't excel at it?

I honestly don't even know what I'm trying to get at here. I just had this really weird realization that writing less might mean writing better, and that maybe that whole evolution of the process thing is forcing me to take a step back and ask 'why?' A lot of whys.

Somehow that all ties into music, as just about everything does for me. I hope you can find a point here, because I really did, and now I'm going to try and make sense of that.

This post is archived under joe nichols, john mayer, writing

Hey, D'Angelo. It's me. Big fan. Just sitting here on a Sunday night, drinking wine and writing a bit. Have some music on. Neosoul: You, Maxwell, The RH Factor, Erykah. A little Anthony Hamilton, 'cause...Well, you know.

And Brown Sugar comes on.

You know what happens to me when Brown Sugar comes on? Aside from some Stevie Wonder-inspired head movements and putting my hand in the air? I think about how nice it'd be if you released some new music.

Look, I know you've got your problems; we all do. It's just that the music...That'll help you, won't it? I mean, someone of your talent doesn't just lose it. Sure, it's been a while and, for real, some people might have forgotten about you. But not all. Some of us still listen to Voodoo on our headphones and marvel at the near-perfection. Some of us think the climax of Send It On is possibly the best part of any song, ever.

Some of us are patiently waiting on James River. Great title, by the way. How's that coming along?

This post is archived under anthony hamilton, d angelo, erykah badu, maxwell, the rh factor

Yes. It is.

Badu makes some good points. She also makes incredible music. These are facts. I'm still trying to sort out my feelings from the show last night.

The basics: Badu was 35 minutes late, walked onto the stage like she was waiting for someone to come up and lick her shoes, and then sang the hell out of a few highlights from her huge body of work. I went to the show with a friend who had a Bluesfest pass and had no interest in seeing Badu (or any idea of who she was). As soon as Badu came on stage - before she'd sung a word - my friend turned to me and said, "I don't like her." I still don't know whether or not I've let this play into my perspective on the show.

The band was tight as hell. Possibly one of the best bands I've ever seen live. The bassist was a standout. R&B bass players are always ridiculously talented, but this guy was incredible, and fun to watch, too.

So, amazing band, great vocalist, awesome songs. Why am I on the fence?

I just keep wondering: At what point does extreme talent justify arrogance? Or rather: At what point does arrogance detract from extreme talent?

Certainly I think any premier artist is going to have a touch of arrogance, or at least be extremely self-assured. I don't think you can get to the point of being a premier artist without at least thinking once or twice, "I am the best at what I do." But when you start abusing the crowd's love of what you do, it becomes an issue.

Because, to me, when Badu took to the stage, I felt like she had spent the last 35 minutes knowing the crowd wouldn't care once she opened her mouth. Which, fine. Maybe, musically, she made up for being late. Maybe fans can grant forgiveness if she jams on Kiss Me On My Neck for 10 minutes. But should they have to?

No, they shouldn't.

I know the music's good. I know she's going to come on stage and blow the crowd away with her style and voice and presence. I don't feel part of that presence has to be an air of not giving a fuck that thousands of people spent their money and their Saturday night on her.

So yes, the show was amazing, and if I were a regular fan and not someone who overthinks everything - especially where music is concerned - I'd probably have left thrilled that she played the hits and went late and kept The Tragically Hip (who I loathe) off the stage for a good 20 minutes.

I still love the music. I just don't ever want that to play into an artist's sense of entitlement.

This post is archived under erykah badu

So, I've been thinking about love as it pertains to music. Not like, 'love songs' or 'breakup songs', or any kind of song, really.

We've all got those artists and songs, right? The ones that take you back to a certain relationship. Those songs are either difficult or really easy to listen to, depending on the memories they carry. For me, as someone who loves music, I think it's pretty telling, of all my relationships, that I've never really selected a 'song'. And not just because I think that's kind of lame. I just can't ruin a perfectly good song because I associated it with a bad relationship. Or at least a relationship that didn't deserve a good piece of music as its soundtrack.

I'm not so much talking about that kind of thing right now, though. I'm just talking about music, at any given moment, and the people you get to share it with.

What brought this on was my first listen to the Tedeschi Trucks Band's Revelator. I've been anticipating this album since I heard it was in the works, and then no music stores in Ottawa were carrying it (assholes) so I had to have it special ordered. I got it about two weeks after the release date, which sucked, but whatever.

As I was driving home from a night of hanging out with friends, I tore the plastic off the record and played it for the first time. As I'm sitting in my car, driving home in the dark, I started thinking to myself, "God, I wish I was listening to this record with someone right now." That's not meant to make me sound lonely or desperate; I am neither. It's just one of those situations where I love something so much that I want to share it with someone who will love it as much as I do.

I've since been thinking a lot about this, the idea of sharing a love of something with someone, in real time. I recommend books and music like nobody's business, but that's after I've read or listened and can riff off a list of reasons, quotes or songs or intricacies that make what I'm recommending a sure thing. That's not at all the same as sitting next to someone and hearing the line, "He was born to love me. I was raised to be his fool," for the first time. It's not like hearing a slide guitar and looking to the person on your right in the car and sharing that look; that look you have when something's amazing and two people recognize that at exactly the same moment.

This, of course, doesn't have to be a romantic love. I suppose it doesn't have to be a love at all, really. I guess I'm just the kind of person who doesn't really thinks it matters what you love, as long as you love something.

I don't know that any of this even makes sense. I guess I just want to experience more things in the presence of someone who understands exactly what we're experiencing together. Which means that I'll constantly be reminded of that person. Then again, given my track record, I'm starting to think I might not mind being reminded of that person. I've been pretty good at keeping people and music separate. Maybe the fact that I'm starting to want to put the two together means something more than I have even figured out yet.

This post is archived under derek trucks, susan tedeschi, tedeschi trucks band

Okay, so Bob Dylan.

Here's the thing. The guy's a fucking genius. No one has ever or will ever write songs like him. It's possible that's the whiskey and multiple listens of my favourite Dylan songs talking, but let's be real. You go to his website to look for one song and you see the list of songs he's written and it's effing ridiculous. The man is a songwriting machine, no doubt about it.

That's not what this blog is about.

Last night I was sitting here writing about something else and listening to Susan Tedeschi sing Don't Think Twice, It's Alright, and I realized that I've never disliked Dylan's songs, I've just disliked his voice. I love Dylan's songs. They're brilliant. He's versatile and prolific and incredible. Then I listened to Tyler Hilton's cover of Boots of Spanish Leather (my personal favourite Dylan song, for reasons I don't even know) and Garth Brooks' cover of To Make You Feel My Love and a bunch of other covers of other songs, and I just kind of had a Dylan night.

I went to work today and in a coworker recommended an artist to me, compared him to Bob Dylan, "If Bob Dylan was a better singer."

Funny that she'd say that.

Then another coworker came in a couple hours later, and in a conversation about The Beatles, she mentioned Bob Dylan really randomly.

Okay. Now I'm starting to get freaked out.

Cut to tonight, sitting here, sipping Wiser's on the rocks and listening to The Tallest Man On Earth, my brother texts me and mentions who else but Bob Dylan.

What the hell, universe?

But that's not all. As I'm listening to The Tallest Man On Earth, he says, "I'll get my boots of Spanish leather," in a song called King Of Spain.

I tap out.

I give.

Mercy.

Uncle.

Fine, okay. Fine.

I'll listen to more Dylan.

This post is archived under bob dylan, garth brooks, susan tedeschi, tyler hilton

So, I'm listening to The Roots, right? And I'm thinking about commercial hip-hop versus real hip-hop and how and when the two can overlap. I mean, it's all up to opinion. You're going to have people who say Kanye West isn't real hip-hop. I'm going to tell those people they're crazy and give them a list of reasons why. (This is one of them.)

Hip-hop, to me, is hip-hop. It's a feeling, an attitude, a swagger, a movement, more than anything. It's not just music or the way that music is made. I listen to a lot of it, from varying decades and artists, and I don't doubt that any of it is 'true' hip-hop.

Yes, The Roots use live instruments instead of samples and 808s, but (despite what I said to someone earlier) that doesn't make it any more 'real' than, say, Jay-Z.

So of course I had to go to my good friend Youtube and watch videos of some of my favourite artists in the studio. That Kanye one, I've seen a bunch of times, mostly because I like anything that shows any level of genius I simply cannot comprehend. "Doesn't sound right? Well, I'll just hit this series of buttons here and it'll be all good." How does one perfect his craft that way?

It's no secret I adore Jay-Z. He's the best rapper, in my opinion, and I love how seriously he takes his craft and his art, and I stumbled on something that proved that all for me again.

I have always respected Timbaland. He's a genius in his own right and I have loved a lot of his work. He was doing incredible things before he got 'popular', and I love that.

Then you see him in the studio with Jay and he's just like, "Alright, here's what I've got," and plays a bunch of beats.

What I love most about this? Jay knows immediately which beat he wants. It plays for two seconds and he knows he wants it. I wish the camera was on him so we could see his reaction. But he knows it's a hit and he wants it. Then he basically walks into the booth and starts rapping.

It's incredible, too, how Timbaland is talking about how Jay is a genius. There's just a level of respect there that I find really amazing, to be honest. Plus, Timbaland says he's the best around and he's still recognizing that in someone else, and that is probably what makes me respect him.

I want to know what's going through Jay's head when he hears beats for the first time. He's probably come up with raps for beats he never even chose. I also wonder if he's ever driving around and listening to other peoples' music and coming up with rhymes in his head that no one'll ever hear.

I love hip-hop. I love what it stands for and how it started and where it's going. I love that it's like a bunch of families that get together and support one another, and that 'feuds' are mostly non-existent these days. It's probably, overall, my favourite genre of music.

Then again, next week I might change my mind and be listening to something else entirely and calling that my favourite.

This post is archived under jay z, kanye west, the roots, timbaland

This will probably come as a shock to no one, but I enjoy reading album reviews. A lot. I tend to stay away from magazines like Rolling Stone and Billboard, whose writers will throw out three or four paragraphs on a record and call it a review. It's not. It's a short overview, and it doesn't really mean a whole hell of a lot, to be honest.

I bought Sara Bareilles' record on Tuesday (the release date). I've been anticipating this, no lie, since I bought her first album. I love her music. I love her writing. I love the way she fits melodies and rhythms together. She's brilliant. In my opinion, she's one of the best writers in the business. Her bridges are some of the best I've ever heard.

So I like her a little.

Kaleidoscope Heart is close to genius. Not quite there, but very close. The record has a great feel to it, and she clearly hasn't given into the pressure of what's expected of a sophomore release. She just wrote her songs her way, recorded them, and said, "Here it is!" Not only are the songs great, but the production quality is some of the best I've heard in recent years. It's just a great record.

Still, despite the fact that I already know I love it, I wanted to read reviews; I wanted to know what other people were saying.

And I stumbled upon this: Sara Bareilles: Kaleidoscope Heart, by Enio Chiola which describes Bareilles' record as 'sugary sap'.

I'm sorry. What?

I read the whole review. I needed to know what this guy found so offensive about this album I love. With each sentence, I got more and more angry with this writer. He's obviously a moron who shouldn't be writing pop record reviews. He may know about music, but he clearly doesn't know about this music. His opinions are harsh and far too personal, even for an album review on the internet. And that's saying a lot.

(He also calls Dan Mangan a 'hipster' in another review, which I'm pretty sure will piss off at least one person who reads this blog.)

So of course, I had to comment and tell him, in my own special way, what an idiot he is and how terrible I found his review.

My comment to his review is here, because I love sharing.

What I got from this review of an album I adore is that Chiola made up his mind about Bareilles and her music before even listening to it. Whether or not that's true, it's the impression I got, which, to say, is not at all how a review should read.

It's unfortunate that Chiola's (and again, this is just an assumption on my part, based on the above) dislike for catchy, well-written pop music clouded what could have been an informed, and informative, critique. Of course, we all have different tastes and it's to be expected that not everyone will like this record. However, one can dislike a record and still give a well-rounded review, state the facts. Calling Bareilles' lyrics 'ridiculous' (especially when they aren't) is a cop out. If you're going to throw out words like 'ridiculous', your next sentence had better be explaining how you came to such a drastic conclusion.

I would not personally call this music 'unbelievably forgettable'. I wouldn't brand it that even if I didn't enjoy it. Nor would I ever compare Bareilles to Fiona Apple, in any capacity other than to point out that they are both women who play the piano. Making assumptions about an artist's future or longevity in the business like Chiola has above is not only unnecessary in an album review, but is completely unfounded information. Last I checked, album critiques were to be based on the album, not on an artist's entire body of work or career as a whole, especially when it's clear the writer either doesn't like the artist or the genre of music in general.

Chiola calls this record self-indulgent. You know what? Some of the best records are. I'd rather listen to an artist being 'self-indulgent' (which I would rather call 'self-aware, to be honest) than insincere or pandering to the masses for record sales and appearances on MTV.

If you're reading this review to get an honest, informed, accurate feel for this record, look elsewhere. Or better yet, listen to the music yourself.

This post is archived under sara bareilles